


Joining My Chem

by idyll



Series: Not a Pretty Girl [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Community: 14valentines, Gen, cis!girl Bob, cis!girl au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-01
Updated: 2008-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the ideal time or situation to slide into My Chem. In fact, Bob thinks it might be the worst time ever. (girl!bob)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joining My Chem

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/profile)[**14valentines**](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/) [Day 1 - Body Image](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/100483.html)

Bob's been asked before, mostly in her early days on the scene when a tall, stacked, almost-blonde (but in actuality ginger-haired; the lighting in clubs and college parties was never all that great) female drummer was just the gimmick one all-male band or another wanted to cash in on. She always said no, barely even had to give it any thought. She considered a couple of offers from all-girl bands a few times, but things always seemed to fall apart before they even got off the ground.

After a while, Bob tightened her focus to sound and stopped talking about drumming, and eventually there came a point when hardly anyone around her even knew she played.

But Bob's known Brian for years. He's a good friend and she trusts him in a way she trusts only a few of the men she's constantly surrounded by. So somewhere along the way she told him she played, which...maybe wouldn't have made a difference to anything. Except that she's always been so fucking comfortable with Brian and she let it slip, let it show. It was just one time--one damn time--in New York. She turned to him and she knew it was already on her face, but she gave it words, too: "I wish I could do that."

And the thing about Brian is that he's really worthy of Bob's trust. He didn't tell anyone about the drumming, or about the naked, greedy _want_ she showed him in New York. Hell, he never even mentioned it to _Bob_ again.

Bob's maybe gotten a little too complacent with Brian's silence on the matter, which is why she's completely unprepared for the phone call that Brian opens with, "Matt's out."

Bob...isn't entirely surprised by that particular turn of events. It's been obvious that something had to give in My Chem, and Bob sure as shit didn't think it'd be Toro. "Fuck, man. I'm sorry. That's--yeah. Sorry."

After a really long silence that seems expectant in some way, Brian says, "_Bryar_," with a wealth of meaning in the word.

Right then Bob knows that Brian's told My Chem everything. Because, see, the _other_ thing about Brian is that he's a shrewd and clever motherfucker, which Bob has always known and appreciated from afar, but which she doesn't so much like up close and personal.

Bob's too stunned to think of anything to say but Brian pushes the conversation along. "They want you to come out for an audition."

"Jesus _fuck_, Schechter!" Bob snaps. Because, seriously. Seriously. She was not expecting this and it's not fair. At all.

Brian makes an impatient sound, the verbal equivalent of rolling his eyes and tossing up his hands. "I know you, Bryar, and you want it. What's with the attitude?" She makes a noise, uncertain and choked, and Brian sighs. "Bryar. Bob. They _want you_. Come do the fucking audition."

Bob isn't great with words on a good day, is better behind a board or kit when it comes to expressing herself. Times like this it's even harder for her to articulate what's in her head. The best she can manage to say is, "There are reasons I've always said no."

On Brian's end of the line she hears the tell-tale click of a lighter and an inhalation as he lights a cigarette. That's a damn good idea, so Bob fumbles for her own pack and lights up, too.

Brian does her the kindness of waiting until she's had several nerve-calming hits before he says, "None of those reasons apply here."

And, okay, he has a point. My Chem would probably, like, slaughter a busload of children before trying to cash in on her gender, which is an extreme and unnecessary example, because she doesn't think it would actually even _occur_ to them to do that. She also doubts they'd ask her to give up her steel-toes and band tees, drop the twenty extra pounds that she's been carrying around forever, get inked and/or pierced to better fit the scene, go by Roberta/Bobbie/Something-More-Feminine-Than-Bob, or play up her impressive cleavage.

She does think they'd ask her to wear make-up, but only as part their stage act and not because they'd want her to look more girly and pretty. Even then, if she said no they'd probably be fine with it.

The simple truth of the matter is that My Chem are really fucking decent guys, which isn't something Bob says lightly. She's had too many bad experiences over the years to be anything but guarded with most men she comes into casual contact with. Hell, she's wary and careful of the ones she actually _knows and likes_.

Bob's so close to saying yes, but. "It's been years since I've played for real." She puts out her half-smoked cigarette and shakes another out of the pack. "I'm not good enough--"

"They know you, they like you, and you fit with them. That's what they care about, more than anything else."

Bob's maybe on the verge of hysterical laughter, though she manages to hold it back. She doesn't think anyone can blame her. It's not every day that someone gets their dream job offered to them and finds themselves with more reservations than anything else. "I've got _tits_, Brian. If I come on board, it could bite them in the ass big time."

"I don't think I've ever heard you say something so motherfucking stupid, Bryar, and I've seen you drunk."

Bob glares. "Look, it could go bad. That's all I'm saying."

"And what I'm saying--and you already know this--is that these guys do shit their own way and fuck everything else." Brian pauses for a moment, then continues in a voice that's far too innocent for a guy who's been on his own since he was a teenager and has seen pretty much everything. "Besides, it's not like it hasn't worked in recent memory--"

Bob hisses through her teeth and crushes her still unlit cigarette to useless pieces in her hand. "I swear to God, Schechter--" She brushes the remnants of the cig into the ashtray. "--if you fucking so much as _say_ the name Samantha Maloney I will hunt you down and put my foot up your ass."

"This antipathy you've got for her makes no sense," Brian says, amused like only someone who really knows, and has purposely pushed, Bob's buttons can be. "You know that, right? She should be, like, your hero or something."

Bob knows both those things. She's sure Maloney is probably a pretty awesome person and, like, shits rainbows or whatever. It's just that Maloney--the exceptionally _hot_ and talented female drummer--was exactly who all those guy bands brought up years ago when they approached her. The comparisons chafed, especially because Bob always came out on the losing end on the hotness scale, thereby leading to her being told all the ways in which she had to make herself better-prettier-different-more.

"We'll fly you out," Brian says, persuasive and sure at once, like he can sense that she's given in to the inevitable. Which he probably can, because he's perceptive like that.

Bob pulls out another cigarette and lights it. She exhales unevenly and closes her eyes against the curl of smoke coming back at her from the cherry. "Okay, fine, but if it goes badly and my soul get crushed, I'm fucking blaming you and you're going to make it up to me, you fucker."

"Fucking drama queen," Brian snorts. "See how you fit right in? Your flight's the day after tomorrow. I emailed you the itinerary and I'll pick you up."

*

When Bob gets there, Gerard is shaky as fuck but clearer-eyed than Bob's ever seen him in all the years they've known each other. Mikey and Ray are both less tense than they've been in a while, and Frank doesn't look at all like the guy who started walking off stage after shows like he was eighty years old and _tired_.

Bob plays _I'm Not Okay_ for them because Brian's email to her contained a few additional details that the bastard hadn't bothered mentioning, like the goddamn _video_ My Chem is about to film. She'd hoped to have another song ready but she'd needed to actually, like, sleep in the previous day and a half.

She does decently. It's not as good as she would have liked but it's better than she feared. The guys trade looks, speaking to each other in a silent language Bob's used to witnessing and has a passing and vague understanding of, but isn't fluent in. Brian's smug grin and fiercely bright eyes, on the other hand, are easy to read given all the practice Bob's had.

She knows what's coming and she's torn between elation and terror. It's not the ideal time or situation to slide into My Chem. In fact, Bob thinks it might be the worst time ever. She's seen her fair share of bands implode and fall apart and she isn't quite sure that it won't happen to My Chem in, like, five minutes.

But Bob's seen them play, and she knows the guys themselves; if anyone can make it through this and come out better, it's this band, with their too-earnest and charismatic frontman who believes everything he says and makes _you_ want to believe it too, and the band who stuck around and kept going when they maybe shouldn't have.

When they get around to asking after the shoot, which doesn't involve anyone suggesting that she wear a school girl outfit, there is no way Bob can say no, her doubts aside. It's My Chem. It's _drumming_ for My Chem. It's pretty much Bob's mostly-secret hope and dream.

Even if she's wrong about everything, Bob figures it's nothing she can't come back from. She'll be out some time, a bit of her savings, but not much else.

"Yeah, okay," she answers them. Then she grins because, _holy shit_! "Fuck yeah."

.End


End file.
